Suits
by Bluejay Blaze
Summary: Belated Sochi 2014 story. Norway feels insecure about his team's uniforms for the opening parade, until his little brother makes him feel better. Canada/Vinland theory used.


Denmark snickered. Norway glared and immediately yanked on the taller nation's tie, preventing him from saying anything. The irate magician had had enough of people's comments for one day. He had better things to do, like prepare for the parade.

Eventually Denmark turned blue and lapsed into unconsciousness. Norway lowered him to the ground- he didn't want to hurt his friend too badly- and dusted off his hands. With his luck that would only shut Denmark up for a few minutes.

Turning to leave, Norway bounced off a wall of red. He looked up to see a mess of blond hair and violet eyes similar to his little brother's.

"Oh, hallo Vinland. Sorry. I didn't see you there."

"It's okay Norway." Canada helped the older nation up. "And please, it's Canada now. If you keep calling me Vinland you're going to make England and France cry."

"Can't help it. You were our little brother first; we should never have let you go."

Canada caught the bitter tone in Norway's voice and frowned. "Grand frère, is something wrong? You know you can talk to me, eh? I may be Canada now, but I'm still your little Vinny."

Norway looked away and mumbled something. Not pleased with this response, Canada enclosed the older nation in an arctic hug. Norway struggled to get away, but Canada was too strong. Eventually Norway relaxed against the larger nation's chest. He sighed, closing his eyes and trying to imagine it really was his little Vinny holding him. Canada had changed so much since then; it was hard to remember he was the same person sometimes.

"It's the other nations. Ever since we got here they've been making fun of my team's uniforms. I can't take it any more Vinny. I was just trying to do something new and different, but it turned into a mess."

Canada stroked Norway's hair. "Everything will be alright grand frère, you'll see. Don't listen to what anyone else says. I happen to like your uniforms very much. They're bright and colourful, unique."

"Of course you would say that. You have that Don Cherry fellow."

"And I love his suits too. There's nothing wrong with being different grand frère, even if Pére France would call it a fashion disaster. As long as you like it, no one else matters."

Smiling, Norway wrapped his arms around Canada and buried his face deeper into the red of the larger nation's chest. "We must've rubbed off on you more than I thought. That's certainly not what France and England were saying when they raised you."

"Hey, they're better now."

"Ja, ja, I know."

Canada separated from Norway and made the older look up at him. One callused hand wiped tears away from the older nation's eyes. "Chin up, eh? You've got an impression to make tonight."

"Takk." Norway was about to get back to his team when he saw something peeking out of Canada's suitcase. It was the most garishly bright shade of red he had ever seen- _Could red even be that bright?-_ and covered in what looked like white paisley. "Vinny, what's that?"

"Eh? Oh, nothing." Canada quickly closed the errant pocket, his face turning red. But Norway wasn't about to give up. Calling upon his magic, the older nation spelled Canada's suitcase open and summoned the eye-bending piece of cloth. It was a fine wool suit.

"At least I won't be the only one." Norway smiled and handed Canada back his suit. The young nation smiled awkwardly.

The pair heard a gasp, followed by laughter. They turned to see France, England, and America standing in the hall behind them, staring at them. America seemed to be dying of laughter; the other two looked horrified.

"Dude, it totally makes sense now! You got your fashion sense in your Viking days!"

Steam came out of Canada's ears. "Don't laugh at grand frère! Our suits are awesome!" A hockey stick appeared from nowhere and Canada charged America. The two blonds ended up wrestling on the floor, yanking each other's hair while three older nations looked on.

Norway smiled as Canada kicked America in the crotch, remembering the Viking days. "That's my little Vinny. Make storebror proud."

France looked at him with alarm. "So _you're_ the one who taught mon petit to be so rough and unfashionable."

"Of course." Norway smirked smugly. "He was my lillebror first. And Vikingr don't need fashion; all we need is to strike fear into the hearts of our enemies."

Seconds later, Canada emerged victorious from his fight with America. Wiping a bit of blood from his nose, the young nation approached Norway.

"Grand frère, would you like to go out for a drink with me tonight? It'll be just like old times, eh?"

Norway smiled. "Of course Vinny." Oh, how he wished he and Iceland hadn't abandoned their little colony. It was so nice to have someone who called him big brother.


End file.
